The Ethics of Cookies and Consent
by madame.alexandra
Summary: The thing about being a bona fide good guy is...you have to keep learning how to be a good guy. H/L, Trip-to-Bespin; Leia helps Han understand why some things that seem harmless just aren't going to be seen that way by everyone.


a/n: yet another ficlet to join the myriad of non-specific Bespin one-shots we all cherish. i have two trigger warnings. one is for that anon who thinks Leia has a really dry throat - her condition is BACK in this fic, and she swallows hard a lot, so you probs should skip this. trigger warning two is actually serious:

**tigger warning: mentions of past sexual assault/strong implications of past rape**

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_The Ethics of Cookies and Consent_

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The mirror in the _Falcon's_ 'fresher – at least, the one in the 'fresher attached to Han's quarters – barely deserved to be called such. It was scuffed, cracked, and had a strange, foggy film creeping inwards from the four corners, which looked to be determined to eventually consume the entirety of the glass.

Leia could see her reflection in the moderately clean area still left in the thing, though she really wasn't studying herself with vanity. She'd just finished washing her hands, and when she'd lifted her arms to reach for a towel, her muscles had screamed in protest, and so she paused, wincing – and settled for just staring at herself for a moment.

She sighed quietly. The spare bunks were uncomfortable, and she'd already sustained some bruising and muscle injury in the escape from Echo Base. Add in the labor she, Han, and Chewy had been doing on the ship lately and it was a good recipe for general aches and pains. As far as relief went, Han's medical inventory – low in stock, and hardly anticipating being stranded with no hyper drive – boasted of minimal low-key painkillers, and some very hardcore narcotics.

In the past few years, Leia had never quite trusted herself to take narcotics or alcohol or any other kind of drug unless absolutely necessary.

Frowning, she reached up to rub her shoulder. She scrunched her nose and continued to stare at herself without focusing too closely. She had grown to dislike the hard, sharp lines that defined her lately – she hadn't always been so thin and brittle – and she didn't like dwelling on the change of appearance; it only reminded her of the reasons behind it.

There was a knock, and Han muscled in behind her, sidling to the side so he didn't brush against her. He nudged past her gently and turned on the faucet, rinsing blood off a cut on his hand. Leia pursed her lips and looked down in concern.

"What's that? What did you do?" she asked quickly.

"Nothin'," Han said, shrugging. "Just scraped it a little on one of the rougher edges."

He lifted it away from the faucet and showed her, exhibiting how minor it was. He shrugged again, and grabbed one of the towels, patting it dry and then squinting as he examined the cut.

"Yeah, s'not even deep," he grunted.

The wound threatened to bleed again, but stopped short of actually doing so, and Han grinned smugly.

"The _Falcon_, she always puts up a fight," he drawled, winking at Leia in the mirror. "But she likes things a little rough."

Leia blushed just slightly, rolled her eyes, and then flicked them downwards. She flexed her fingers and then slid her hands under the running water, almost going as far as to pump soap from the dispenser. Then she paused, made a snorting noise, and turned off the faucet, shaking off the excess water.

Han arched a brow at her, and she pursed her lips ruefully.

"I've…already washed them," she admitted, perturbed at her own absentmindedness.

Was it because he was standing so close behind her? He wasn't crowding her on purpose; the 'fresher was just small by default. She glanced over her shoulder a little, and then nodded at the towel.

"May I use that?"

Han nodded, smirking.

"S'got my germs on it," he teased, making it dance above her head. "You sure?"

Leia sniffed.

"I think at this point I've developed antibodies to you," she retorted, looking up at the wiggling towel balefully. "Han, give it to me," she ordered.

He lowered his hand, and she reached up to grab it, wincing involuntarily. Han tilted his head, and then drew the towel back curiously. She frowned, but he didn't seem to notice what he'd done. Instead, he set it down, and inched forward a little bit, turning sideways and facing her.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What was _what_?" Leia asked, sighing.

She let her arm fall limply to her side, her nose pinching up tensely. Han nodded directly at her arm, his eyes traveling up it to her shoulders, and then to her back, with a critical frown.

"That…flinch," he pointed out. "That, uh, y'know, you flinched, like you're hurt."

"No, I didn't."

The look Han gave her was so boldly patronizing that Leia did, in fact, wince again, and breathed out heavily with her mouth closed, flaring her nostrils dramatically. She flicked her eyes upwards and then, after a reluctant, stubborn moment, drew back her lips and made herself answer him.

"I am just…sore," she admitted finally. "I'm not," she paused, and then broke off. She chewed the inside of her lip, choosing her words carefully. "There's…we've done a lot of," she broke off again.

She didn't want to sound as if she were complaining – she wasn't. And while she was, actually, sort of a stranger to hard labor, she was not opposed to working. It was just that usually her work consisted of planning meetings – _managerial_ sorts of things. She had gotten much, much more hands on and down into the weeds since Yavin, but she wasn't conditioned to…all of this. And there was still the nasty fall she'd taken –

"Yeah, it gets rough bein' all twisted and crammed up in the _Falcon's_ nooks," Han said easily, crossing his arms. He tapped his elbow thoughtfully. "You got all torn up on Hoth, too, didn't you?" he asked.

He frowned unhappily.

"Damn, I wasn't even thinkin' about that," he muttered. "Shoulda just had me and Chewie doin' the repairs – "

"I'm not above working," Leia said curtly.

Han blinked at her.

"Well, I didn't say you were, did I?" he retorted bluntly. "And I don't _think_ you are, or I wouldn't have asked for the help so casual like," he pointed out. He paused, and then arched his brows. "I think it's kinda weird that you didn't tell me you needed a break from the rough stuff."

Leia looked at him coldly, remaining silent, though her non-response was clearly an invitation for him to explain why.

"Since when are you afraid to say what's on your mind?" he asked.

Leia pursed her lips.

"It isn't fear," she said.

She let that sit for a moment, and then shrugged tiredly.

"I don't always notice how bad my pain is until…it's very bad," she said flatly. "Generally, no pain I've felt since…my imprisonment…has been _that_ bad."

She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment.

"These are just sore muscles," she said dismissively.

"Okay, but you got to let them rest for them to heal," Han pointed out. "'Sides, I can give you some moderate painkillers, and I got a salve that'll be good for the bruising," he said.

"We have very little inventory," Leia pointed out. "We should save those things for real injuries."

Han snorted.

"Sweetheart, if anyone gets any more injured than some bruised and achy muscles while we're stuck out here, we got bigger problems than bein' out of salve."

Leia frowned grimly – well, he certainly had a point there. She twisted her hands together, and Han raised his brows, jutting one foot out slowly and nudging her toe with his.

"C'mon, take some nursin' from me," he coaxed.

"Hmm," Leia grumbled, eyeing him warily.

"Tell ya what," he said, eyes brightening a little. "I can help with your back and shoulders, too," he said. "I used to – uh," he paused. "I knew a masseuse," he said diplomatically, "and she taught me some techniques. Think I can get that tension out."

He said it perfectly seriously, and without any smirks or flirtatious winks, but Leia still felt threatened immediately. She took a full step back, which put her directly against the wall, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I do not think I'm interested in what a masseuse you used to sleep with taught you," she said icily.

Han's good-natured expression dropped off his face in a flash. He unfolded his arms, his hands flexing, and looked at her uncertainly for a minute, obviously caught off guard.

"What's it matter if I used to sleep with her? She still _knew_ her trade," he retorted warily. "I wasn't offerin' anything like that," he said. "I didn't even _say_ anything about you takin' your clothes off, I just think I could make you feel better – "

"I'm sure you do think that," Leia snapped. "I don't want a massage."

Han's face darkened this time.

"Leia!" he protested angrily.

She compressed her lips tightly.

"I don't want you to give me a _massage_, Han. I don't want you to touch me," she snapped.

He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head. He looked like he was about to start arguing, but then he swallowed hard, sighed, and rolled his shoulders back, trying to force himself to calm down.

"C'mon, Leia," he said, only a barely discernible edge to his voice. "I'm not bein' some…jerk, okay? I just want to help. If you let me work the knots out of your muscles – "

"Do you _hear_ yourself?" she demanded. "You sound like every ignorant teenage boy who – "

"It ain't like there's a way I can offer that doesn't sound a _little_…sexual!" Han snapped, frustrated. "I'm not gonna make it sexual, though, I just thought I could do somethin' nice – "

"You could listen when I tell you not to touch me!"

"I haven't touched you! I'm just _offerin'_ – "

"Han, I don't want a massage! Can you just _leave me the fuck alone_?"

He reeled back –inasmuch as he could in the small space – and stared at her, his eyes widening. His mouth dropped open a little, and he crossed his arms across his chest almost defensively while anger, and then confusion, flickered across his face in quick succession. Eventually, what settled there was hurt, and he stood silently for a moment.

Then, with a blank expression, he looked away from her.

"Yeah, I'll leave you the fuck alone," he said flatly. "You mind lettin' me out, then?"

Swallowing hard, and still half-stunned from her own use of the expletive, she stepped to the side, making herself physically small – to match how small she felt in essence – against the sink, and letting him move past.

He left tensely, his gait awkward, without looking back at her, and Leia watched him for a moment, her ears still ringing.

Her eyes sting, and her jaw throbbed from clenching her teeth. She inched to the side, and then sat down on the sani, hunching over to lean towards her knees, and stare at her palms.

She took a deep breath, silently cursing the aches in her back, and bit her lip. Her heart raced, but her mind felt steady, and she already regretted losing her cool. She knew – she could tell from the look in his eyes – that Han really hadn't meant anything untoward.

In fact, for this entire trip so far – if one could call the unplanned foray into wild space sans hyperdrive a _trip_ – Han had been completely bearable; even understanding and _nice_ – he was, demonstrably, trying very hard not to make this worse than it was.

He was amiable and had stopped much of his swaggering about and flirtatious bravado; if Leia had wanted to, she might have called his change in behavior practically civilized _courtship_, but she was too cautious of anything romantic to do so.

She tapped her fingers together, closing her eyes against the memory of the hurt look on his face.

He hadn't been pressuring her. Not really. Well, he had, but not with any…malice, just genuine good intention and then, when she was combative, annoyed frustration – which was, technically, fair, since she was so accusatory and, probably in his eyes, completely unreasonable.

It wasn't really him…not entirely. It was him looming over her in a small space, making offers to lay his hands on her, particularly when she knew Han _wanted_ to lay his hands on her, and very much in a sexual way. It wasn't that she faulted him for that – he'd never gone so far as to do it – but in some ways she knew how he thought about her, felt about her, dreamt about her, and his suggestion just sent her spiraling into a what-if scenario of her, powerless under his touch, and him, deciding _hey, what a great time to see if Leia's up for a little more, or easy to hold down – _

She could tell him straight; she knew she was easy to hold down.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, her throat burning. She took a deep breath, and swallowed her tears. She hated that she harbored any fear of Han at all. She trusted Han, that was a fact; Han had had many opportunities to treat her poorly or make overbearing advances towards her, and he hadn't.

There was just nowhere to go on this ship. Nowhere to hide. Walls closing in. And he didn't _understand_ –

She could tell him, but she didn't want to. She knew the words, but she could never say them. She'd tried before, standing in front of a mirror, her lips pursed, mind determined, shoulders set, hellbent on confessing the reality to herself, but she never got the words out.

Words were always the most dangerous weapons in her political arena; she knew the damage they could do, and she knew words written down, and words spoken, were words that were real – but words kept in the heart and soul could never be known by another person.

She grew dizzy, and then all of a sudden, she grew determined – angry. Angry at herself, angry at the tragedies that had done this to her, and angry at the steel armor that encased her – not protecting her, but trapping her.

And she went to find him without knowing what she was going to say.

She thought he might have gone back to work, or gone to brood in the cockpit, so she was surprised to find him sitting morosely at the Dejarik table, a sole glass of amber liquid in front of him.

He saw her, and his jaw tightened, and her curled his hand around the glass, and started to get up.

Leia came closer to the table, and shook her head.

"Stop," she said. "Don't go."

Han froze, but he didn't exactly sit back down. He balanced on bent knees, ready to bolt.

"Thought you wanted me to leave you alone," he said warily.

Leia sighed.

"You were here first, Han," she said. "You don't have to leave a room just because I…that's," she stopped, swallowing hard. "That's not the point."

Han did sit down this time. He lifted his glass, and took a very deliberate sip of whiskey – at least, she assumed it was whiskey. He licked his lips, and then sat back stiffly.

"What _is_ the point?" he asked.

Leia suppressed a shiver, and before she knew it, words were tumbling out of her mouth.

"I _want_ to explain to you why I freaked out," she said. "I can't."

Han arched a brow.

"I mean," she said hoarsely, swallowing. "I really _can't._ There have been…moments, during which I thought about things too hard, that I _blacked_ out, Han."

He curled the glass closer to him, bewildered, but eyes on her. She looked at the empty spot next to him – on the semicircle seat, he sat near one of the edges, and she had the choice of sitting quite close, or sliding in the other side, and leaving space.

She chose to do the latter – or rather, she started to move that way, and then stopped.

"Is it okay if I sit?"

"Yeah."

She did, gingerly, and then she looked at the table for a long time before she lifted her head, and turned slightly to face him.

"You should just let me say no," she said.

Han blinked at her. She went on, forcefully:

"I said I didn't want a massage, and you kept trying to convince me."

Han frowned a little.

"Well," he started uncertainly. "I mean…yeah but not…to be an asshole," he said. "I just was tryin' to tell you I didn't mean anythin' sleazy," he pointed out.

"I know," Leia said softly. "I know, but some things are…different than…than I don't know, trying to convince someone to try…the cookies you baked," she said.

Han laughed, then seemed to think he was being horrendously offensive by laughing, and slammed his mouth shut with a contrite look on his face. Leia smiled faintly, her face turning pink.

"I just mean," she explained, "that…saying no…isn't an invitation to persuade."

Han looked at her, and she looked away, feeling his gaze on her profile.

"Leia," he said quietly. "I really didn't want you to think I was makin' a move."

"I _know_, Han," Leia assured him again. "I'm telling you it doesn't matter how you were afraid _you_ would be perceived, when _I _felt like I was being harassed."

She saw Han tense, and even saw his jaw move as if he'd insist he wasn't harassing her, but then everything she'd said seemed to click, and instead he fell silent, and leaned back.

"You see what I'm saying?" Leia asked softly. "You think it's an innocent attempt to convince me of something I might like, but from my perspective, or someone who had been…previously ignored when they said no, or previously forced to do something they…or she…didn't want to," she shrugged tensely, "it comes off as very threatening."

Han's silence, this time, was deafening. When he didn't say anything for a very long time, Leia risked looking up, and over at him. He was staring into the liquid in his glass, and when he felt her gaze, he carefully lifted his hand, and offered it to her.

"Here," he said. "You want the rest of this?"

Leia reached out tentatively.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Scotch."

Leia accepted the glass, and then looked into it thoughtfully. She took a deep breath, and drank what was left, closing her eyes tightly to stop them watering, and using all of her strength not to start coughing.

She set the glass down neatly, and then folded her arms on the table.

"And, um," she said, "another thing is…if someone says they feel like they're being harassed, that's what matters. Not what you meant."

Han sat next to her, listening. She heard him sigh heavily, and when she looked over, he was rubbing his forehead, his elbows on the table.

"Do you get it?" Leia asked bluntly.

"Yeah, I understand, Leia," he said quietly. "I get it."

He flexed his hands, and then laced them together, staring at them.

"I was in the Imperial military. I know prisoners," he shook his head, leaning back heavily. "I guess I just thought someone with your rank would be treated different," he said bitterly.

Leia lifted one shoulder, exhausted.

"So did I," she said simply.

"I'm sorry," Han said sincerely.

"I accept that," she said.

He rubbed one eye.

"Y'know, the way you put it, people really shouldn't even start tryin' to convince someone to try their – what'd you say? Cookies," he said curtly. "S'like you said. Could just shut up when someone says _no_. I thought I fuckin' knew that," he muttered.

She could almost hear his mind working, hear him casting his thoughts back through encounter after encounter with women, wondering if he'd ever exerted the winning amount of pressure, instead of just receiving consent born of sheer desire.

"Well, yes," Leia said. "Some things are more important than others." She tapped the glass in front of her. "Trying to convince someone to drink when they don't want to is annoying. Trying to convince someone to submit to physical intimacy is…bordering on a threat."

Han grunted. He looked over at her, his face pale.

"Leia, I wouldn't ever lay a hand on you without you wanting me to," he said. "I know I grabbed you on Hoth, but the ice was fallin' and you couldn't get your footing to stand up…you know what I mean," he said earnestly.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I believe you."

Han slumped back in silence, and she sat there with him, a tightness to her chest, but a lighter feeling on her shoulders. She reflected, for a moment, on her ability to come out here, and to find some way to put this into words, and she knew it was a bridge in its own way, and she wanted him to know that, too.

"Han?"

He grunted again, softly.

"I wouldn't have bothered to have this conversation with many other men," she said. "I wouldn't have made the effort."

Han studied her intently, his dark, golden eyes soft and searching.

"What I mean is…I don't think I want you to stop asking me things," she murmured. "I just want to know you'll listen when I say no."

If he was smart, he'd read more into the word _things_ than she was willing to say right now.

Han tilted his head slightly, and looked at her for a long time – and then he arched a brow, his eyes glittering. He gave a subtle little nod, and leaned back, crossing his arms, and Leia wanted to burst into tears of relief.

She settled, instead, for a small, cathartic smile.

Han stretched his legs out under the table and cleared his throat.

"I can make cookies, y'know," he said abruptly.

Caught off guard, Leia pursed her lips.

"You-?"

He nodded smugly.

"Yeah. I can _bake_."

Unsure where this was going, Leia sniffed.

"I see. Let me guess – you once slept with a pastry chef?"

"No," Han said smoothly. "Malla – that's Chewie's mate – said I'd never get a woman if I couldn't bake. She made me learn," he revealed.

Leia rested her cheek on her palm, amused, staring at him, waiting. Han shrugged.

"All'm sayin' is," he drawled, "I can make 'em. I might even make some for you, one of these days," he said, shrugging again. "_You'd_ have to ask _me_, though," he added. "When you want them."

Leia tilted her head at him, meeting his eyes – and somehow, despite all the metaphors and shadowy implications of this conversation, understanding him perfectly.

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_pretty short, by my standards. _  
_-alexandra_

_story #396_


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